


Submit Your Heart

by Gesirdris



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark!Harry, Intelligent!Harry, M/M, Multi, Ravenclaw!Harry, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gesirdris/pseuds/Gesirdris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a recluse Harry Potter comes to Hogwarts, the last thing he expects is to be part of the tug-of-war game between his DADA teacher Tom Riddle and Riddle's cousin Salazar Gaunt. Both have been at war with each other for years. Both believe this is another game. They become aware it is not when it's already too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hogwarts

“Have you ever visited Hogwarts before, Mr. Potter?”

Madame Malkin’s smile radiated friendliness, but Harry’s own lacked any spark. Automatic. Like most of his expressions usually were.

“No. I was homeschooled since my childhood. But my parents told me a billion stories about it, so I can picture everything in it, from the moving staircases to the ceiling that mirrors the sky,” he replied softly.

Malkin hummed in reply and inserted another pin into the black fabric of his new school robes. Harry observed the way her nimble fingers pulled and pricked and pushed.

“And I probably know more about Hogwarts’ secrets than most students do.”

Malkin chuckled. “Yes, yes, I remember your parents. Especially your father. A stunning young man, he was.” She looked up from her work to wink at him. “A dashing one, that’s for sure; we always betted on who could entice the local star, and the news that the quiet Lily Evans managed that simply stunned us.”

Harry offered a tight smile.

“My mother has a habit of stumping people.”

A habit Harry inherited. One of the few traits he actually shared with either of his parents.

“It’s the quiet ones you always have to be wary of,” Malkin continued conversationally. Harry only half-listened as a dozen of other things filled his mind. “Especially when it comes to Hogwarts students.”

“Oh? Any other surprises recently?”

Malkin blinked up at him before beaming.

“Didn’t you hear? Tom Riddle, that upstart halfblood. I hear he has made quite the impression on the Minister himself. You’d never tell with the way he was so humble and helpful at Hogwarts, none of this Malfoy showing-off.”

Harry hid an annoyed huff at the familiar name.

Tom Riddle.

Ever since he had decided to leave his reclusion and try out that entire school thing, Harry had been hearing that name. When reading a newspaper, when researching the famous contemporaries, when looking up the technicalities of living in Hogwarts – wherever he looked, that name came up.

The memories of a handsome visage and charming smile fluttered in his mind. Harry stifled them.

The idea of associating with Riddle attracted him, but only somewhat – however charming Riddle appeared, the rumours clearly indicated him being a Dark wizard. Lily and James wouldn’t be happy about Harry socialising with the man.

And despite everything, a tiny sprout of hope still dwelled inside him that one day Harry’s parents would forsake the stigma of his innate Dark magic and relax around him without wariness.

Connecting with a renowned Dark wizard would crush the possibility.

“He’s invited to teach at Hogwarts this year. Defence against the Dark Arts. They say it was his best subject at school.”

“Oh,” Harry replied with a veneer of outward disinterest.

He yearned for someone to guide him the way Lily and James had never done...

He smothered the urge.

Harry would stay true to his parents’ teachings; he wouldn’t touch Riddle and his coterie with a ten-foot pole unless the man outright walked up to him and dragged him into the world of the Dark Arts...

Which Harry doubted would happen.

No one ever paid attention to him.

* * *

“Are you sure you are going to be all right?” Lily asked worriedly at the train station.

Harry ignored her question, staring at the crimson vehicle instead, wondering at the air of mirth and anticipation floating around, marvelling at the spells that were flying and at the human sentiment shown vividly on wizards’ faces.

People, people, people...

Their overabundance made him dizzy.  Harry stared at them, trying not to feel like an idiot, and failing.

Brought up as somewhat of a recluse, Harry had seen few people at a single gathering. Mostly the list of his associates comprised his parents, Remus, Sirius, and Dumbledore. Sometimes he got to see some of Lily and James’s Auror friends and colleagues who dropped by for a drink or emergency, or even to discuss some business matters like trails of a murdering Dark wizard or the suspicions about a blood ritual performed somewhere.

Harry always listened in to those conversations.

His godfather Sirius Black constituted a wonderful company on those occasions, or even when it came to providing Harry with prank supplies.

The boy never told his godfather that he didn’t use them for pranking.

“Of course he will be, Lily.” Harry’s attention snapped back to his parents as James laughed his wife off with an easy laugh. “Don’t be such a worrywart. Harry has never been the one to pose trouble for any one of us, has he?”

Lily smiled tightly.

“Just don’t get in Slytherin, darling,” she said gently as her hand tucked a lock of Harry’s hair behind his ear. “They might fill your ears with lies and false beliefs that might ruin your life.”

Harry sent her a small smile. Utterly fake, with a touch of bitterness lying underneath.

Of course. Don’t get involved with Slytherins. Don’t talk to Slytherins. Don’t spend more than a second in their company unsupervised, because it screamed _danger_.

And all because of the ability he had.

James grinned nervously and rubbed the back of his head.

“Harry’s got a fine head on his shoulders. He sees every day what we do to those slimeballs when we catch them.”

‘You are such a hypocrite, James Potter. Do you truly believe that if you’re tormenting a Dark wizard who has tormented someone first – maybe even for a reason – it makes it all right?’

Harry tilted his head, carefully maintaining a neutral expression.

“So all I have to do is not to get caught by you then?”

Judging by the abrupt darkening of his parents’ expressions, neither of them appreciated the joke.

Lily gasped and placed her hands on his shoulders. They weighed tons.

“Harry,” she scolded. Her tone of voice struck worse than a poisoned knife. “Please stop with this nonsense. I’ll write a message to Albus so he has another talk with you; it seems like with all this freedom you’re already forgetting yourself.”

“Probably got corrupted by someone in Diagon.”

Harry held back a grimace.

A talk with Dumbledore. Perfect.

Not that Harry disliked the old man – his attitude remained neutral despite the many differing opinions he had heard about him – but he admitted that Dumbledore always gnawed on his nerves and thawed on his patience with his constant chatter about the superiority of Light.

What the hell? Harry was a born Dark wizard, the blood of his grandmother seeing to it. Was he supposed to lower his head and submit to the standards of being inferior?

“Don’t worry, son, a few pranks against Slytherins will alleviate whatever regard they might have for you,” James quipped cheerfully. “After that they’ll hate you and you’ll be free to live the life you want: a life free of Dark influence!”

Harry only smiled, like he was used to. Trust his father to cure everything with pranks.

His parents never understood him. They believed that if Harry ignored he was Dark, if they ignored he was Dark, if the society ignored he was Dark, that little fact would disappear.

But it didn’t work that way.

Time and time again Harry turned his back on his heart shattering.

Time and time again his hope glued it back together for another round.

* * *

Unfortunately, the Fates weren’t smiling upon him that day, since Harry found all of the compartments already full or half-full.

Damn. Not even a moment of relaxation with a book in hand.

Eventually, he settled on sharing the ride with a bushy-haired girl, a chubby boy, and a guy with such flaming red hair it made his head look on fire.

“Do you mind..?” Harry gestured at the only seat available.

The bushy-haired girl raised her head – she was reading! That cheered him up immediately – and blushed. The blokes turned to him, too, their attention diverted from the conversation they had had.

“No, not at all. Sit down here.” She pulled out her wand to levitate a rack of books to the floor.

Harry inclined his head, impressed.

“Non-verbal spells. Fascinating.”

The redhead snorted. “That’s Hermione for you. I wouldn’t touch this stuff for a galleon, but she spends all her time perfecting it.”

“Excuse me for finding magic fascinating, Ronald,” the girl, Hermione, said coldly.

Harry smiled a bit at her.

“It seems like we share this interest. I find magic terribly enticing, too. Especially when it’s my turn to do the washing-up or to clean the floor.” Dropping to the seat, he held out a hand. “Harry Potter, pleased to meet you.”

“Hermione Granger, likewise.” The dusty blush on her face spoke volumes, and Harry didn’t miss the jealous glance the redhead shot him.

“These are Neville Longbottom and Ronald Weasley.”

Longbottom’s smile, despite it being a small quirk of lips, glowed with warmth, while Ron’s face stayed in a weird semblance of a grimace, as if he wanted to smile but couldn’t. Harry speculated it had to do with the earlier jealousy. Perhaps a crush was at play.

“It’s my first time at Hogwarts because I’ve been... homeschooled. So, mind telling me all about Hogwarts?”

* * *

“Ravenclaw!” the Sorting Hat cried out after some careful contemplation.

Harry exhaled with relief. He had argued with it for minutes to prevent himself from getting into Slytherin, a house which would make both of his parents terribly disappointed in him, and Dumbledore constantly wary around him. Despite his own neutral stance regarding the Light-and-Dark issue, Harry hadn’t been blinded by faith in his closest ones to know what their reactions would be.

Disappointment. Anger. Fear. Resentment. Suspicion.

So Harry had argued and argued, and eventually the Hat had gotten sick and tired of it. And voila  - he was sitting at the Ravenclaw table amidst speculations and probing questions.

“Why now of all times? You could have stayed homeschooled until the end-“

“Do you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

“Do you mind me calling you ‘Harry’?”

“How’re your magic skills, Potter?”

“Don’t you dare think the teachers will give you any slack just because you’re homeschooled!”

And on it went.

Well, Harry supposed it was still better than sitting at the Gryffindor table. _There_ the students would have simply stifled him with their questions.

Harry remembered what Malkin had told him and chanced a glance up at the teacher’s table. Yes, there he sat in all his glory: Tom Riddle.

Harry hungrily drank in the features of the man, the aura he emitted – so tangible that even in a sea of wizards Harry could feel it pulsing around him. Only Dumbledore’s could arguably snatch his attention from it.

Riddle charmingly smiled at McGonagall, bringing a cup to his lips. All his movements were measured, all motions refined and graceful. Harry almost envied him.

He made a decision.

He wouldn’t consciously seek out Riddle company or mentorship, but if the man noticed him...

Harry wondered how much resistance he could squeeze out.

* * *

Salazar Gaunt eyed the newest Ravenclaw, entranced.

The boy captivated him. The slender figure, the silk of black hair, the pale skin... Everything a perfection. Salazar wanted to devour those lips and taste that skin and let his hands roam all over the younger male’s body.

An obsession. His newest one.

He hadn’t had a challenge for a long time.

Some bowed as soon as they discovered his status as the Heir of Slytherin. Others preserved their dignity a little longer, up to the time he assured them of his intellectual and magical superiority. Yet others resisted just a little while longer before he splintered their shields and forced them to submit.

Salazar wondered how long Potter would last. He hoped for long; Hogwarts held few enigmas for him to enjoy, and even fewer of those he could take pleasure from physically.

Mentally, he was already welcoming Harry Potter into the fold of his followers and his string of former lovers.

* * *

Tom Riddle made it his point to steal whatever Salazar set his eyes on. Perhaps the reason lay in their convoluted family drama: as cousins they were supposed to be close to each other.... But they had never been. The Gaunts had never acknowledged Tom, and Salazar always twisted that particular knife.

“Riddle” didn’t strike anyone as a pureblood surname. It gave Tom a certain disadvantage, especially in the earlier years of Hogwarts, when he had been taunted and stomped at by the other Slytherins.

Oh, well, they had tried to humiliate him. Not that they had managed to succeed; even in his childhood Tom had been powerful and cunning enough already to utterly crush his enemies no matter their social standing. And the ones who buckled against his hold most always turned out to be worshipful towards him. They vied for his attention, they talked about him in reverent whispers and boasted of having his favour; they trembled in fear in the face of his rage....

And, of course, they preferred him to Salazar Gaunt, the acknowledged heir.

Tom smirked into his goblet.

Salazar had robbed him of the official title, but that was a mere trifle in comparison to Tom’s real power.

And Tom enjoyed proving his superiority in every way, always stealing his cousin’s toys before damaging them beyond reconstruction. Few stayed true to Salazar when Tom tempted and persuaded and chatted up and charmed.

Salazar had some appeal.

Tom’s allure? Unbeatable.

And now he noticed the way his cousin eyeballed that new boy, Potter, about whom so many rumours were already spreading. All around him witches and wizards exchanged their opinions on the boy, their suspicions and observations.

Plans and schemes were building, while calculations piled up and plots brewed. All surrounding a handsome green-eyed boy sitting calmly at the Ravenclaw table.

Of course, Tom’s ploy would beat all the other ones, as always.

And when he left another broken toy behind him on his bloodied path, he would marvel at the crumpling of his cousin’s face.

* * *


	2. Blending in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're in their seventh year now.

“Now, the only thing that makes me want to wake up in the morning is Hogwarts’ fine, _fine_ pastry,” Anthony Goldstein announced before he started to happily stuff his face with it. His golden curls bobbed with the motion.

“Eating sweets and tarts won’t make you sweeter,” Harry grumpily commented as he rubbed the remnants of his sleep away. “I can’t care about things in the morning. We could have a hundred Potions lessons right now, and I wouldn’t give a damn.”

“How rude,” Su Li huffed and glared at him for her friend’s sake, who kept on eating.

“Not a morning person, huh.”

“I doubt _anyone_ can be a morning person when you’ve got a Monday ahead. And a whole year of _studying_.” Michael Corner, a dark-haired gangly boy sitting on Harry’s left, shuddered.

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. Had he wandered off to the Gryffindor table by mistake? His housemates didn’t look all that eager to plunge into their studies.

“Well, actually, I think Fridays are worse. You know you have one final push before the weekend, but _making_ this push is unbearable,” Goldstein disagreed, sighing. “On Friday I usually just wish for someone to turn me into a log so I have a valid excuse for not being at the lessons.”

“Aren’t Ravenclaws supposed to be studious?” Harry asked curiously. So far his housemates had mostly whined and complained, few of them pulling out books for additional reading, and fewer still meticulously jotting down their own research. “To, dunno, want to go to the lessons?”

Corner glowered at him. “This stereotype has ruined my entire life in Hogwarts.”

“Oh.”

Harry nervously sipped his pumpkin juice – he preferred something cold to drink when he felt uncomfortable, and his first morning outside the house scared him a bit. Sure, the guys seemed nice and friendly, but social situations were a novelty to him.

Was he supposed to ask more? To say more? To – urgh! – ask about their hobbies or interests or favourites?

‘I really should pen a letter to Sirius. He’ll surely help me with this whole “being at school with a crowd of people” thing.’

Both Lily and James suffocated him with their protection from the Dark influence. In his childhood they would forbid him from speaking to anyone with a remotely stained reputation, and they would refuse all his hesitant suggestions to set up a playdate between him and his distant pureblood relatives, sternly leading him to the park to hang out with muggles instead.

Harry hadn’t minded, not really. He never cared about muggles. As long as they didn’t lunge at him with the fire of Inquisition burning in their eyes, he let them be...

Or would let them be, if only his accidental magic would agree.

Harry possessed an immense power within his reach – but the sort that he couldn’t control. Volatile. Dangerous.

When he spent time around muggles as a child, at one point it would go out of control and blow something up or hurt his companions, and they had to be obliviated.

Of course, they never retained the memories of him after that. Whatever friendships he had forged, they would always come undone by a team of diligent Obliviators or his parents, and he couldn’t bring himself to start anew.

Eventually, he had ceased all his attempts at making friends.

Dumbledore had offered to seal his power so he could communicate with muggles better, but Harry had thrown a temper tantrum and rejected the idea, slamming the door in the old man’s face – he still bore a teensy grudge for that _generous_ offer, by the way – and had holed himself up in the house.

He had refused to come out. He had stopped talking. He had stopped _living_. All to preserve that thrumming power in him, however untamed and uncontrollable, however wild and frightening at times.

After a month of mute rebellion Lily and James had given up and decided to home-school him instead.

And no, Harry _didn’t_ slightly resent them for sticking to their ideals and locking him up if it meant avoiding his interacting with the pureblood society where he could get influenced and plummet into the whirlpool of blood-purist activities.

Despite the efforts to contain his magic, even in the household those spontaneous bursts continued for a long time until one day they disappeared completely.

Harry liked to think that that had been part of a natural process.

He never let the suspicion that the reasons might be different seep in.

* * *

Very soon Harry found himself marching to the Transfiguration classroom surrounded by an army of his fellow Ravenclaws. They brightly chattered between each other, mostly letting him retain his silence, but none of them allowed him to escape their area of vision.

Harry supposed it had a lot to do with him being a novelty at Hogwarts, thus something they craved to study and unveil, to later shelf it for when a need arose to use the information gathered.

Sometimes, they gained enough courage to bugger him with a question or two.

“Why did you decide to go to Hogwarts now and no sooner?” Mandy Brocklehurst asked him curiously as she peered up at him through her glasses. “I hear you were pretty much content to live somewhat like a hermit.”

Now that was a question he didn’t fancy answering.

“Guess that isolated life got lonely,” Harry replied evasively, the half-truth rolling off his tongue with ease.

“How strange that it got lonely only after so many years of reclusion.”

Harry whipped around to see who was talking. His green eyes pierced into a set of all-consuming black ones on a slightly familiar face. The male had slightly wavy dark brown hair and a sturdy body, mighty like an oak tree, with very defined muscles.

“Have we ever met?” Harry asked in puzzlement before a frown marred his features. “And you do know that it’s impolite to eavesdrop?”

The guy, a Slytherin, judging by his tie, shrugged him off.

“Was passing by and overheard you.”

“And of course you felt compelled to stick your nose in,” Harry muttered with a roll of his eyes.

“What can I say? Curiosity is just another flaw of mankind. Even wizards are not exempt from it.”

“Being curious is not a flaw. Being _prying_ is,” Harry pointed out needlessly before realising that his rebukes only amused the guy. From the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of Goldstein paling and Corner watching him as if he had rebutted a God. “Mind repeating your name, by the way?”

The Slytherin smirked. “I never introduced myself.”

After a flicker of contemplation in his eyes he stretched out a hand to Harry.

“Salazar Gaunt, the Heir of Slytherin,” he declared with a small bow and an expression full of pompous severity. “The future Minister of Magic.”

Harry snorted at the last sentence. “Well then, Harry Potter, the future Head Auror. Sorry, no fancy titles or ambitions.”

Gaunt’s handshake was firm, almost hurtful, and Harry was glad when it ended. The other male’s fingers lingered too much on his wrist, too, as if caressing the tender skin.

“An Auror?” Gaunt repeated absently, covertly staring at the fingertips that had touched Harry’s skin.

Harry replied with a tight-lipped smile.

“My parents work in that department, albeit my mother entertained some thoughts of working at St Mungo’s for a while. It’s only natural that I end up there, too.”

“Does that mean you are good at fighting, Potter?”

Harry’s lips quirked in a mysterious smirk.

“Believe me, you don’t want to find out.”

* * *

“Do you know who that was?” Corner hissed into his ear as soon as McGonagall arrived and opened the classroom for them, and they had plopped down.

“Salazar Gaunt, the Heir of Slytherin?” Harry replied with a shrug as he rummaged through his bag to dig up his quill and parchment. With his wand he never parted.

“Exactly!” Su Li exclaimed, turning her head to see him better. She chose to sit in front of him, by Goldstein’s side, while the rest of the Ravenclaw spread out through the classroom, some of them even sitting together with Slytherins.

Harry knew that only Ravenclaws dared to share space with the snakes, since Gryffindor and Hufflepuff would be suicidal to try it – the latter because they would be scared witless, and the former because of their remarkable ability to pick up fights and badmouth.

He frowned when he discerned a slight rift between Slytherins, as if two cliques sat divided in the classroom by the Ravenclaws.

On the one part he observed his newest Slytherin acquaintance joking with a dark-skinned boy, occasionally bestowing a gesture of imperious favour upon Theodore Nott and a pair of girls sitting in front of him.

All of them sent occasional glares at the other part of the classroom, where Malfoy clearly ruled with his two goons by his side.

Corner noticed his puzzled gaze.

“Those two – Gaunt and Malfoy – have been at it for ages. Don’t think about it, all the better if they tear each other apart,” he whispered into Harry’s ear as McGonagall started lecturing. Harry actually liked the woman, but hearing about the workings of the Slytherin House fascinated him more than her dreadful talk of transfiguring chairs into pincushions.

Besides, why the hell would he need to transfigure a perfectly good chair into a useless knickknack?

“Why?” Harry whispered back. “Did they quarrel over a girl or something?”

According to his books, that was often the case.

Corner sniggered in reply. “A girl? Nah, they won’t know real feelings if those bit them in the arse. Both Malfoy and Gaunt are about as romantic as the desk we’re sitting at.” A pensive expression drifted over the older teen’s face. “Although Gaunt is rumoured to be somewhat of a playboy. Still, he seldom targets out House, so I can’t tell for sure. Ask around, Su or Mandy might tell you if they know.”

“They dated him?”

“Mandy hinted at it, but I guess she was dumped before long. Besides...” Corner leaned in so close his breath tickled Harry’s skin, glancing around warily, and whispered, “Don’t tell her, but she’s not exactly the prettiest girl around. Nor the cleverest. If he ever dated her, he was bored out of his mind then.”

Harry shivered when Corner looked him over meaningfully.

“Salazar Gaunt likes beautiful things. They say he has a collection.”

And didn’t it sound like a prediction?

* * *

 Salazar covertly observed Potter through half-hooded eyes. His fingers clenched around the quill he was holding when he saw Michael Corner draping himself over his newest obsession.

It got worse when the Ravenclaw leaned in to _whisper_ something into Potter’s ear.

_Snap._

“Are you all right?” Blaise asked worriedly.

“It’s a trifle,” Salazar waved him off, vanishing the broken quill and digging up a substitute.

His black eyes bored into the quietly chatting pair of Ravenclaws. Was Corner sucking up to Potter? Was he about to seduce him, too?

Salazar grit his teeth.

He had enough rivalry in the form of his cousin, and he had no doubt that when Tom – he always called him Tom because it annoyed the other so – sniffed out his new fascination, the halfblood would attempt to steal Potter from him.

Unacceptable. Sometimes Salazar lost, sometimes he won.

For that toy, he was willing to fight.

But first...

Off with the pesky pawns that might intrude. Salazar played against worthy adversaries – like his cousin. The game was between the two of them.

Oh, and maybe Potter would pitch in to the entertainment. If he managed to keep up.

“Blaise,” Salazar beckoned quietly. “Say, something rather... unfortunate happens to Corner. Would anyone care?”

Blaise hummed thoughtfully before shrugging.

“Are we talking death here?”

He sounded nonchalant, ad if he watched the dying every day. Then again...

Giulia Zabini was legendary. As were her eight marriages all ending in “accidental” mishaps, mostly with food and drinks. Salazar supposed her son couldn’t escape that taint that came with murder.

Perhaps Blaise even aided her in killings.

Salazar guessed it would be impolite to ask the woman at a dinner party.

“Death... Hmm, it sounds too fatal. I’d prefer something less permanent, but getting the point across.”

If Corner continued irritating him further, though...

“As far as I know,” Blaise started. “He has a girlfriend and an owl. Beware of the owl, it has sharp talons.”

“You will be my accomplice,” Salazar said with resolution as he diligently took notes.

“Do I have the option of refusing?”

“Certainly. You may refuse for a whole of one minute. In your head. Before you give in.”

Blaise heaved a sigh and shook his head. “You have a well of unresolved aggression. Or sexual tension. I’m constantly mixing up the definitions when it comes to you.”

“Well, the approaching tournament will give me some opportunity to rectify it,” Salazar drawled with a smirk.

He was waiting for that with eagerness rivalling his lust and blood thirst, ever since the echoes of the rumours had greeted him. Unfortunately, the information was still considered a secret, so he couldn’t openly discuss it with his fellow housemates outside of his circle.

He also couldn’t wait to see Potter fighting.

The bloke had implied - with a sexy smirk, no less - he was good at it... Better than him, even. Well, Salazar loved correcting misconceptions.

Perhaps he would make a deal with Potter. The loser – Potter, of course – would oblige the winner – Salazar, obviously – for a fortnight. Or, better yet, a month. A year? A whole life?

Ah, decisions, decisions. Still, Salazar would surely get tired of Potter in a lifetime. So, a few years of voluntary slavery would suffice.

There were a lot of kinks Salazar hadn’t explored yet. Should he start readying a collar?

Oh, well, he would wait for the event to start first.

* * *

“And now the wheels are turning, Fawkes,” Albus solemnly declared to his faithful companion before petting the phoenix with a tired sigh. The bird chirped to cheer him up.

“There were so many decisions I could make regarding young Harry. So many choices to select from, all of them promising but also risky...” he went on muttering to himself. “I could bind his magic completely and thus throw this particular figure off the board. I could brainwash him or imbibe him with an obedience potion or even cast a compulsion web on him-“

Fawkes chirped with disapproval. Its beady eyes stared at its master with condemnation.

Albus rubbed its head soothingly.

“-but I didn’t. Couldn’t. Despite his importance to our future, we can’t be selfish. It must be his own decision to support us, not an obligation thrown in his face.”

The old man parted from Fawkes’s perch to observe the panorama through the window. The classes were over, so many students had left the confines of the castle to enjoy a sun-bathed picnic.

Albus watched them laugh and smile and run with a pang in his chest.

They didn’t know.

They didn’t understand.

The world was about to plunge into a firestorm of events, and Albus carried the burden of that knowledge on his shoulders only.

His only consolation?

It allowed him to plot.


End file.
